


Remember The Words

by synonymsforchocolate



Series: Season Three Bughead Episode Tags [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode Tag, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, bughead - Freeform, protect betty cooper, riverdale season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 15:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16267355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synonymsforchocolate/pseuds/synonymsforchocolate
Summary: Betty deals with the confusion of her seizure. Jughead plans an investigation.





	Remember The Words

**Author's Note:**

> I promised certain people I would write more fanfiction someday, so as a little writing challenge, I decided I'd be doing a bughead oneshot after every episode of season 3 (mainly to manage whatever pain RAS throws at us in the coming months). These will generally be one scene immediately following whatever happened in the episode. Canon compliant, but basically they will be super self indulgent bughead fantasies. And some might have smut, idk. 
> 
> If all goes as planned, they will go up on the Thursday following each episode.

In her dream, she’s back at Sweetwater swimming hole.

The water’d been _freezing_ , but she’d swallowed her shivers in favor of the warmth that came from the way Jug had pulled her towards his chest, the way he’d hitched her up to slide into his lap, chin dragging through her cleavage, a promise in his eyes that after all this time, after all they’d been through and continued to deal with, they could still be teenagers. Simple. Normal.

She doesn’t have to work hard to remember these things; her body knows his so indelibly know that the memories aren’t of him, they’re of _them_.

They’d ridden out to Sweetwater in Archie’s rust-colored junker of a car, and it had felt like a movie, riding in the open air and breathing in the feeling of possibility — something she hadn’t felt all summer, not since Jughead had woken up from his brush with Death By Ghoulie. The whole thing felt like stealing a last breath of oxygen. Jughead’s eyes were on her instead of the fading summer scenery flying by, and she didn’t have to meet his gaze to know what his eyes were saying. _I’d give you the world_ , they said. _But I like you better in mine._

They’d been so much better since she’d become the Serpent Queen, since he’d let her into that world. There had been an easy sort of domesticity between them. “You two are so _married_ ,” Veronica had commented one night as she delivered their milkshakes. That night Betty and Jug had met up at Pop’s, her on a dinner break from working Archie’s case and him fueling up for a Serpent meeting. She’d been showing him her notes on the deposition they were prepping for, and he’d been filling her in on the meeting she’d miss. Veronica had raised on eyebrow at the papers and case notes consuming the table, but she’d smiled at how they were tucked into the same side of the booth together, caught up in their whispers of the days’ news and both pretending not to see Jug stealing her fries, their eyes alight with the feeling of sharing their worlds. 

All summer, there’d be nothing unsaid between them. That was the new rule.

They were domestic in other ways, too. In the way Betty would arrive at the trailer before Jughead and FP got home and heat up leftovers so there was a warm meal for them to share. In the way Jughead would catch her at work with a pint of Ken & Larry’s and two spoons, sitting down across from her and sweeping her feet in his lap so he could play with her toes as they passed the cold treat between them. In the way they spent Sunday mornings cocooned in his sheets with the fan blowing on their sweat-sticky faces, blowing her hair back, knees knocking as he shifted his hold on her so that his lips never left her hair. In the way they made love now, practiced and sweet.

But the biggest change in their relationship, and the thing she loved most, was the new and casual way he talked about their future, something they’d never talked about so candidly before — not in their early days of sleuthing, not when he was at Southside High, not during the tumult of the riots. Sure, she liked when he talked about love, but she liked it just as much when Jughead would say things like “will you still steal my clothes when we live together?” or voice his concern over whether Archie would get to come to college with them. Betty knew Jughead hadn't always felt secure in his knowledge of where he would sleep the next night, so to hear him talk about college and beyond...it was magic. 

That night at the river, when he’d slipped his beanie on his head as they sat by the fire that night, she’d felt that magic double. 

“Betty,” he said. “From now on, we’re partners. In Serpents, in life — all of it, okay?”

He’d adjusted his beanie on her head as he said it, taking great care that it sat at the right angle, all the points of the crown standing high. There she was, confessing to feeling out of control, anxious, and he’d given her the best comfort he knew. He’d offered her his ultimate symbol of security. He’d always worn that hat to shield himself from the instability of a world he couldn’t control. Now he was offering its protection to her, and there was a promise hidden in that gesture.  _You don’t have to be in control. I’ll be next to you while the world rocks. I’ll be the only thing that doesn’t move._

They’d always stood beside one another, all through their childhood, but now they were truly in it together. Partners in love and in life. She didn’t have a thing to fear, not with Jughead by her side and his hat on her head. That was it, she realized — the absence of fear. That was what she felt in that moment. Everything had felt so safe, so right with the world, that nothing scary would dare find its way into their bubble.

How wrong she’d been. Betty should have known that everything would go to hell the moment she thought things might, _just maybe_ , go right for them.

When she woke up from the dream, she was on the couch in her living room. It took her a few seconds to orient herself, but after a moment she could see her mother across the kitchen talking in a hushed tone to Edgar Evernever. _That guy_. Betty breathed deep, assessing. She felt okay, albeit a little weak. 

Someone was holding a cloth under her nose, and she realized the smell emanating from the rag had woken her up. God, it was awful. Like turpentine and fish. She scrunched her nose in protest.

“What happened?” she coughed, struggling to sit up.

“Shhh, Betty. It’s okay.” The cloth was pulled back, and a blonde girl smoothed her hand over Betty’s hair. Betty met her eye, and it was then that everything she’d seen came back to her.

“Alice?” the girl called. “She’s awake.” Turning back to Betty, she grinned sweetly, but Betty knew a fake smile when she saw one — she had invented that move. “I’m Evelyn. You gave us quite a scary, Betty.”

“What happened? I saw-“

Then Alice was there, dropping to her knees beside Betty. “Shhh. You’re disoriented, Betty. You had a seizure, right there on the back porch. Evelyn found you convulsing and shaking like a leaf. Oh Betty, I hate to think what might have happened had she not been there.”

“Evelyn?” Betty asked. “From the...no, I saw all of you. There was a…a fire.” She gasped. “Mom, where are the twins? Where is Polly?”

“Elizabeth, whatever are you talking about? Polly and the twins are asleep, upstairs. You were only out for a few minutes, dear.”

“No, no. You were there, you were all there. Performing some… _ritual_. Some kind of _sacrifice_. God, mom, what have you let this Edgar person brainwash you into doing?”

“Brainwashed?” her mother tutted. “Betty, I’m worried about you. You’re taking unprescribed medication.Having hallucinations. Really, you’re not acting like yourself.”

Betty sat fully upright. _Maybe they’re right_ , she thought. _I haven’t been feeling like myself lately._ But the image of the fire in her head, of her mother and this Evelyn girl holding her niece and nephew high as the flames licked their toes, was too real to have been conjured from her own imagination.

“No, Mom, I _saw_ you. I saw what you were doing—“ she said forcefully.

“Elizabeth,” sighed Alice. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re having seizures, for Christ sake. We’re all so worried about you.”

“Who? You and Edgar, the cult lunatic you've let into our house?”

“Elizabeth—“

“No.” Betty stood up. “I’m going. I’ve got to get out of this house, this, this _witchcraft_.” She tugged on a light jacket and laced up her Chucks. “Call me when you’re not throwing children onto a pyre, mother.”

“Let her go, Alice,” she heard Evelyn say softly as she crossed the threshold. “She’ll be back, and we’ll be waiting.”

It wasn’t until she reached the end of Elm Street that she began to cry. She started to run, tears making the sidewalk swim beneath her. There was only one place left to go.

 

***

 

Jughead is in the middle of dialing Betty’s number when she shows up at his door. His compass lies abandoned on the kitchen table. He’s pacing, breathing heavy, wild with fear, and she’d the one he needs to talk to most.

The door flies open as he’s circling the kitchen table, and then she’s there. She runs straight into him, a fire burning through the woods, and his arms don’t hesitate in wrapping her into his chest, though he does step back with a small _oof_ of protest.

“Betty?” he says in alarm. “Betts, what’s wrong?” In response she simply buries her face in his flannel, and he strokes his hand over her hair for a few minutes as she sniffs, clutching him with fingers that are no doubt turning white with desperation.

“Is your dad here right now?” she whispers into his shirt, slightly muffled. He shakes his head, knowing she can feel it.

After a few moments he pulls back and dips to meet her eyes. “Betts, talk to me. What happened?”

She looks up at him, and the sight of her eyes brimming with tears nearly knocks him over. He has always hated to see her cry, and right now that disdain is mixing with panic and confusion to bring his blood pressure to an all-time high. He has to look away before the sight brings tears of his own, and his eyes fall on her bare legs, exposed by her summer pajama shorts, and the trickle of blood running down one knee.

“You’re bleeding, baby,” he says softly, his stomach clenching.

“Oh,” Betty says, blinking. “I kind of ran here. I guess I fell at some point.”

 _Shit_ , he thinks. _How did she stand to see me hurt last year, if I can’t even witness her like this?_

“Betty, you’ve got to tell me what happened.” He knows there’s an obvious plea in his tone. “I need to help.”

She inhales, as if starting a story. “I had…an episode, I guess. A seizure.”

Jughead’s stomach rolls. “A seizure?”

“Yeah. I mean, I think so. I don’t remember it that well. I was home, I was sleeping. I haven’t been sleeping that much —“

“I told you, you can always sleep here,” he cuts her off. “Can’t have my girl with darker bags under her eyes than my own.” He’s attempting to lighten things, and he knows she knows that, is grateful for it, by the way the corner of her mouth lifts just so.

“I heard something coming from outside," she goes on. "At first I thought it was the wind, but it was…sharper. Like whispering voices.”

“That’s unpleasant,” Jughead scowls.

“I went downstairs to check, and Jug…” She trails off.

He doesn’t push her. He knows she’ll tell him everything she’s feeling; he wants to give her time to figure out what that is.

Slowly, she tells him about going out on the back deck, pulled there by the red-orange glow of a bonfire and the steady stream of unintelligible chanting coming from her background. She describes her mother and Edgar Evernever’s daughter, the blonde Evelyn, clad in all white, lifting Juniper and Dagwood above their heads like they were launching paper lanterns. The way she describes it, Jughead can almost see his girlfriend, ethereal even in the dark moonlight, the same look of disbelief on her face as when they’d watched the tape of Clifford Blossom shooting his son in Archie’s garage that fated night.

By now, Jughead has sunken down to the floor, his head drifting between his hands like it does when he’s focusing on understanding something. Betty drops down next to him.

“I saw them, with the babies. And I was going to call out to Polly, to my mom, to ask what the hell they thought they were doing. But then something happened, and the babies, they _floated_. Just rose up on their own like, like the were puppets on strings, like…I don’t know, Jug. Maybe I imagined it. But that’s the last thing I remember. I think I must have fallen over. My mom said I was shaking and seizing, gasping for air...”

He reaches out and grabs her wrist, loath to be without her touch in this moment, and tugs her to him. “You feel okay now?” he asks, concern laced into his voice, stroking an index finger over her cheek with care.

“Yeah, Juggie, I’m okay. Just confused.”

“Anyone would be, Betts,” he says.

She sighs. “My mom and Evelyn, they were acting like I OD’ed, Jug. But I don’t know. I don’t know. I didn’t take any Adderall today, I swear. I didn’t want to rely on it anymore. You said yesterday we were partners—“

“And I meant it," Jughead cuts in. "Though, I may abandon you on sleepovers with Veronica, especially if fingernail polish is involved.” This is a lie; he’d go anywhere with Betty. But her cheeks blush just a little, so his goal is achieved.

“I know," she says. "And I want to honor that. Be better, for you. For our team. So I stopped taking them. I want my head clear, I want to start moving on, on my own terms.”

Jughead shudders at that. He will never get over the idea that this girl, the ever-lovely enigmatic angel of Riverdale, wants _him_ on her team.

“They thought I was hallucinating it, Juggie. And maybe I was, maybe for part of it, but I know what I saw. I didn’t imagine it. My mom and the Evernevers were doing some sort of weird, satanic ritual, tossing the babies in the bonfire. Into a _fire_ , Jug! They’re not even one year old!”

“I believe you, Betty,” he says, knowing she needs that affirmation out loud. “But if you weren’t imagining it, if it really happened, how do you explain that? Babies don’t float.” He swallows the “you’ll float too” joke bubbling up in his brain, a reflex for a film buff like himself. Betty doesn’t need that right now.

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “My mom, Edgar, all his crazy notions. Maybe they’re drugging me. I just…I feel like I’m going crazy, Jug.”

He’s got one hand on her face and one over her heart, and he can hear the panic in her voice as clearly as her can feel her pulse working overtime. He inches closer and grabs her shoulder, his thumb stroking over her tee of its own accord.

“Hey,” he breathes. “We’re all crazy.”

That gets get to smile, her first real one he’s seen. Some of the tension leaves her shoulders.

"That's what you said when you first kissed me,” she says, the worry in his voice momentarily replaced with recollection. Jughead smiles, too. That had been a wonderfully innocent moment, his first kiss with the girl who he seemed to orbit magnetically around, whom he had loved before he knew what that was supposed to feel like.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me lately, Jug. It’s like I don’t know who I am anymore. I think I’m seeing things, and I’m scared.”

He’s silent for a minute, and then he gets an idea.

“Hmm. Do me a favor, close your eyes for a second,” he says then, pressing his thumbs over her eyelids to close them. He tries not to think about how peaceful she looks when she closes her eyes, how angelic. Tries to not think about the early morning light on her sleeping face as they lie in bed together, or the screw of her eyes as she comes undone underneath him. “Keep them closed, and tell me the first thing that comes to your mind. What feels most real to you?”

“You,” she says immediately. “Us. This trailer. Our couch.”

“Okay,” he says, purposefully not letting any glee slip into his voice, although secretly his heart jumps at the idea that she prefers being here, with him, in this shitty trailer park. “So, go be whoever you need to be out there. Just remember you can come here and be yourself, always. I can’t promise you much, Betts, but I can promise that I’ll love you like that. Here, with me. I won’t let you forget who you are.”

She’s opened her eyes now, the returning love in her eyes carrying so much momentum, echoing so much beautiful promise, that he actually sways backward.

“Do you remember what you told me last year? Outside the hospital, in the rain, before everything went to shit?” he asks. 

“God, that feels like a lifetime ago,” she giggles. “You weren’t even a Serpent then.”

It does. “You told me you’d support me no matter what,” he continues. “That whatever I needed to do or explore, you had my back.” Betty smiles at the memory and squeezes his hand. “I hope you know that goes both ways. You want to stop taking Adderall? Okay. You want to see a therapist? That’s great. You want to take up knitting to cope with all this? You can make me a thousand pairs of socks. I trust your instincts, Betts. I always have. Whatever you need to do, I’m with you.”

Betty sighs deeply, breathing him in. Jughead does the same. A year ago, a speech like that might had filled him with nerves and emotion, but now there is just unbreakable calm, unbending trust.

“I love you, Jug,” she whispers, like the sentiment is clogging her throat too much to speak any louder.

“Yeah, me too.”

She wraps him in a hug, and they sit like that for some time until Betty pulls back, a new look of alarm on her face.

"Jug? Why is your shirt covered in blood?"

He sighs. “I was just about to call you about that.”

He recounts his misadventure in the woods for her. Finding Dilton’s map. Following it to Fox Forest and finding the two boys lying prostrate on the ground. Shaking them, yelling for help. Calling in an anonymous tip to the police — over his dead body was he letting Minetta know he was there, for fear of being framed next — and then calling Sweet Pea for a ride back to town.

“I called Dilton’s house to make sure they were okay after I left. He and Ben are alive, but barely. They’re pretty shaken up. His mother didn’t know anything about any game they’d been playing, but I’m certain this has something to do with what they were doing all summer in Pop’s.” Jughead tells Betty how Dilton came over before the trial, how off he seemed. 

When he shows her the photo he took of the strange symbols carved into the boys’ backs, she winces.

“Another cypher?” she asks.

“Maybe,” he hedges. “I think it has more to do with this gargoyle game than a serial killer. Either way, we have to figure it out. You and me. Want to be Riverdale's premier investigative duo again, get to the bottom of this together?”

“Juggie,” she says softly. “You know you don’t even have to ask.”

He nods. “But Betty, tomorrow. It’s late, and even Sherlock Holmes needed his beauty rest.”

“You know that makes you Watson, right?” she laughs as he tugs her into his bedroom.

“Just basking in your glory, Betts, like always,” Jughead says, pulling her jacket, which has slipped down her shoulders, all the way off. In turn, she slides her hands under his waistband and tugs his jeans down, readying him for bed. It’s not sexual — not tonight. This is just what they do. They take care of each other first. 

“Sleep tight, Betts,” Jughead whispers once they’re wound under the covers. He feels her press her lips to his bare shoulder in the dark, and he tightens his grip. This is all he needs — Betty sleeping next to him at night and the promise of an investigation come morning. For all the ways he knows the world is conspiring against them, this is not one of them. Their partnership will survive, even if nothing else will. Of that, he has no doubt.

They fall asleep together, safe, and when they dream, it is not of cults or rituals, not of unreasonable mothers or redheads with overeager arrows, not of gargoyles or strange symbols. No, tonight they dream of the dying breath of summer, the warm glide of their skin as their hair dries by the bonfire, of a gray beanie on yellow hair at Sweetwater swimming hole and the words to remember. 


End file.
